


Staying Right Here

by papergardener



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Hector never came home, Imelda is trying so hard, Pre-Canon, Short scene, baby Coco is missing her Papá, but it was already written and done so thought I'd share, don't expect much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 06:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14743616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papergardener/pseuds/papergardener
Summary: Héctor had promised to come home. That was a lie. Little Coco is missing her Papá and Imelda is left to pick up the pieces, wondering how she’ll ever do this alone.





	Staying Right Here

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short character scene about Imelda, and a peak into what she must have struggled with.  
> I've had this sitting ready for about a week or two, finally got it finished up and decided to share.  
> Enjoy!

Not long ago, hearing music would have brought Imelda joy.  
  
From outside the kitchen window she caught the slurred refrain of a bawdy song as a group of men staggered past on their way home. She listened for a moment, raising her head and allowing herself to be distracted from the ever-present anxiety pressing down upon her shoulders.   
  
Months had passed, and her husband still hadn’t come home.  
  
Foolishly she went to the little stack of letters tucked away in the kitchen, and opened up the first one, post-marked in November, from Mexico City. Her eyes roved over the familiar writing, the tender words. The paper was already worn and wrinkled from having looked at it so often, and it barely lay flat as she smoothed it out in her hand. As always, her eyes lingered on the last words…  
  
_I’m so sorry, but I don’t know when I’m coming home._  
_I’ll be home soon._  
_I promise._  
_I love you._  
  
Once again, she felt the same tightness in her throat. But more and more, anger was overcoming the pain and the sorrow of missing him.  
  
The letter in her hand was the last she had ever heard of him. That had been in November. Then December had arrived without a word, and she and Coco had celebrated Dia de los Santos Reyes on their own. All that day her daughter had spent staring out the window, hoping her Papá would come home to surprise them. It had been the one thing she truly wanted, and no other gift would be enough. Imelda found herself wishing the same, hoping he would finally show up at their door again, travel-stained and weary, but with the same warmth in his eyes, the same bright smile. It hurt all the more when night fell without any sign of him, and she had tucked Coco into bed, crying and almost sick with grief.  
  
Christmas passed. Then New Years. Still nothing.  
  
The money and letters never came. Coco was growing increasingly despondent, and Imelda was growing increasingly hungry. There were only so many times she could skip dinner without Coco noticing, and that night’s meager dinner had only been beans and tortillas. Soon she would need to beg money from her brothers again, although her shoe repairs were helping. But it wasn't enough.  
  
She wasn’t supposed to do this alone.

But she was alone, and while she would never admit it, she was terrified.  
  
She couldn't understand why he had stopped writing. He must be all right, or she would have heard from Ernesto. So if he was all right, where was he? Did he no longer wish to be a part of a family? Were they nothing more than a burden? A great weight holding him back from his dreams to be a famous musician? Did he think he no longer needed a wife and daughter when the world was his familia?  
  
Perhaps worse, she wasn’t the only one who had noticed his absence. Her brothers often tried to reassure her, but their words were changing from ‘I’m sure he’ll be back soon’ to ‘you'll be ok." And she hated going into town and feeling the stares, the pitying glances. Her brazenness of walking around town alone alarmed more than a few. Some would even encourage her, in veiled terms, to return home and wait for her husband to return. But he wasn’t coming home, and she had Coco to support, and she couldn't do that by staying in her house all day until they starved.

But while she wouldn't admit it, the constant words and whispers hurt more than she would ever care to admit.  
  
_No word from your husband yet?_  
  
_It’s your own fault, you know. If you were a good enough wife, he would still be here._  
  
_What did you expect, eh? A bastard musician; it was bound to happen._  
  
_I knew he would never stay, I never trusted him. Anyone could have seen it coming._  
  
_Probably found some other chica to keep him company. You know how those kind of men are. He was always popular with the girls, eh?_  
  
It was getting harder and harder to push back against those cruel words. Why didn't he come home?  
  
He said he had loved her. Had that been a lie? Had she been nothing more than a foolish girl believing sweet words and songs? Too in love to see the truth right before her eyes?

Perhaps if she loved him less, it wouldn’t hurt so much. But, Dios, she still _missed_ him. She missed how he smiled when he looked at her, or the way he would scoop up their daughter. She missed the sound of his laughter and how he would often sing under his breath and not even realize it. She missed him every day and every night.  
  
Did he not miss her?

She didn’t know anymore.  
  
By the time she went into Coco’s room to wish her goodnight, the music from the street had faded away. In its place was a pleasant silence but for the usual sounds of evening: crickets, a sighing wind, and the far-off yipping of coyotes. When she peered through the bedroom door, she found Coco avidly standing by the window.  
  
“What is it, mija?” she asked, walking in and holding back a yawn.  
  
Her daughter turned to her, and Imelda was startled to see her crying, a terrible look on her face.

"I-I heard him. I heard singing. And a guitar! Mamá, he was just outside, he was just...” She had to stop there, overcome by her sobs, choking on her tears.  
  
Imelda closed her eyes, and felt the familiar pain of longing for her husband.  
  
“Coco, mija… it wasn’t him.”  
  
“It was!” she said loudly. “He was outside! And singing! I heard him! I did, I… Why, why didn’t he come see me? Why hasn’t he come home?”  
  
“No. Coco, listen, it wasn't him." Imelda sat down on the bed beckoning her closer, away from the window and the lingering memory of music. "It was just other men singing and walking by our home. That’s all. It wasn’t Papá.” If it was, he would already be there. Imelda glanced out the window, to the bright stars in the distance. Who knew where he was.  
  
“No… no, it has to be him! I thought…” Coco sniffed, “I thought he would be home by now. He said he would be home soon. You told me he would. He promised! Why... why isn’t he home?”  
  
Imelda hated these questions. She hated that she no longer had a good answer, and she hated Héctor for making them worry, for making their daughter cry.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Is it... Mamá, is it because of me?” Coco said, staring up desperately through teary eyes. “Did I do something wrong? If I did something bad, tell me and I promise, I promise never to do it again!”  
  
Imelda again felt her heart shatter a little more.  
  
“No. No, Coco, this wasn’t your fault.”  
  
“It is!” Coco said fiercely, pulling away from her tentative embrace. “Somehow, I, I must have…. I’ll do better. I’ll be better! Can you just tell him to come home? Tell him that I miss him? What can I do? Please, just… just tell me and I’ll do it. I want him to come home!”  
  
“Mija, don’t… don’t think that. This isn’t your fault.” Imelda again tried to pull her close. “I know you miss him. I know, I know…”  
  
“No!” she shrieked, squirming in her arms. “No! Where is he? He promised he’d be home. He promised!”  
  
Imelda scooped her daughter into her arms, softly shushing her, powerless to help her own daughter. She could no longer promise that he would be home soon. What had once been a certainty had become little else than a lie.  
  
_Héctor, where are you?_  
  
“I want my Papá!” Coco continued to cry, choking on her own tears, and there was nothing Imelda could say or do to comfort her. “I want my Papá to come home! _I want my Papá!”_  
  
_Your daughter misses you, Héctor. Why aren’t you here?_  
  
“It’s going to be all right, mija. I promise, you’re going to be all right.”  
  
Eventually, after a long time of rocking her and murmuring comforts, Coco sat limp and hiccupping, her small fingers twisting in the fabric of her blouse.  
  
“It’ll be ok.”  
  
Coco didn’t respond, just clutched tighter. She had dealt with this before. It didn't get easier. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, she carefully pulled back the top sheet of her bed with one hand, and lay Coco down, waiting until she let her go, still sniffing softly. She was about to get up, but was stopped by a small question.  
  
“Mamá, are… are you also going to go away?” she whispered. Something within her froze, and she had to shut her eyes tight against the pain.  
  
“No. No, of course not, mija. I’m not going anywhere,” Imelda said, stroking her hair. “I’m staying right here.”  
  
“Even when you’re mad at me? Or if I do something bad? You’ll still be here?”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
Imelda felt a burning in her eyes. Héctor had promised. He had broken that promise.  
  
“Can you stay with me tonight?” Coco whispered.  
  
Imelda hesitated, briefly. Then she pulled back the covers and slipped in beside her daughter, wrapping her arm around her.  
  
She wished she could be a better mother. She wished she didn’t have to do this alone.  
  
_Héctor, you promised we would do this together_.  
  
“No matter what happens, I'll always love you. Never doubt that, mija."  
  
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be the three of them, together.  
  
_I hope it was worth it,_ Imelda thought, gritting her teeth so he wouldn’t make a noise and upset her daughter. _I hope whatever or whoever it is, it was worth abandoning your family._  
   
She vowed that if he never came home, if he never returned, then he would no longer be a part of their family. They would do it without him. As she lay curled beside Coco, listening to her gentle breathing, she swore to herself that she would be there for her family, no matter what.  
  
It would be difficult. There would be problems, and mistakes, and she knew she would come up short in a million different ways. But she would raise her daughter as best she could. She would do it. She had to.  
  
Imelda would do everything she could for her daughter, and her family.  
  
They would make it through.

**Author's Note:**

> Imelda would have had to go through so much pain in her life, even as she has to be strong and be there for her family. She is such a fascinating, complex character, and deserves to be happy (with her husband!)
> 
> Inspired by "So Big, So Small" from Dear Evan Hanson. Highly recommend giving it a listen for Imelda feels.
> 
> [Link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=agP3WytovOM)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
